


Of Caffeine and Children

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caffeine trip plus brandy, F/F, I am serious, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Stargaryen, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark finds that switching shifts with her sister in their family’s coffee shop is the best damn decision she has ever made. </p><p>Alternatively: Arya has zero fucking chill; Dany is a human-shaped sunshine. Bran is a brat, and Jon is practically a puppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Caffeine and Children

**Author's Note:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.  
> ***Thanks to starkyd7 for the beta.

 

**MONDAY**

Arya sees her as soon as she enters the café—it would be difficult not to; the counter’s right in front of the door, after all, and Arya’s manning it at the moment, and there aren’t a lot of customers at this time in the afternoon. Besides, well, Arya thinks the girl’s kind of really cute too, in an ethereal fairy kind of way: silver-haired, purple-eyed, and kind of short—Arya’s pretty short herself, but she still has a couple of inches over the girl, which is a big deal. Kind of.

The girl doesn’t bother to look at the menu before queuing behind a couple whose orders Arya is just wrapping up. This leads Arya to believe that she might be a sort of regular. Interesting. She’s even happier that she switched shifts with her sister for this term. Really, waking up in the morning before nine is so not helping with her sunny disposition. Not that her disposition is sunny in the least, which is maybe kind of the point. Also, Sansa’s the perkier one, and it really makes much more sense for her to deal with grumpy early birds to, like, ease their grumpiness or something.

Anyway. Right now, Arya is faced with a vision from Valhalla, maybe, and so she summons all the energy she can into being a model customer service employee. “Welcome to Winterfell Café,” she greets, smiling. Like, a real smile, teeth and all. “What can I get you?” And her effort is not wasted because the girl like, beams at her. Positively beams, and Arya thinks she’s made of 100 percent sunshine or something equally, well, sunny. Bright. Dazzling.

Gods, she’s such a sap.

“Uhm, a tall caramel macchiato, please. With an extra shot of espresso.”

“Okay.” Arya punches the order in. “It’ll be $3.50. Can I get a name for the cup?”

“It’s Dany, with a single _n_ ,” is the answer. Dany hands her exact change, and there’s still the smile that could outshine anything in the Milky Way.

O-kay. Arya needs to fucking find her chill and like, take a breather here.

“Got it, Dany with a single _n_ ,” Arya repeats, instead of blurting out something stupidly embarrassing—or was _that_ stupid _and_ embarrassing?—like, _please be gay_ , _please be single_ , or _please be a single gay_. Dany isn’t wearing any rings, so, here’s to hoping on at least one part of the equation.

And Dany’s fingernails are clipped short and neat, too. Here’s to hoping on the _other_ part of the equation.

Arya puts a whole lot of care into scribbling four letters onto the side of the cup, but whatever. She starts preparing Dany’s order, her movements smooth and practiced, a testament to how long she’s been working here. _Too damn long_ , to be honest.

“How long have you been working here?” asks the soft voice, almost hesitant, and Arya nearly jumps out of her skin. How weird is it that the girl—well, her new favorite customer, _maybe_ —asked her about something she’s been thinking about at that same moment?

This is Fate. It must be.

Or maybe Arya’s mind is going fuzzy because of Sansa’s latest lemon cake experiment. She’s pretty sure there were raisins there, and she’d been forced to ingest the demonic food in the name of product assessment. Ugh.

So. Dany’s staring at her, and Arya’s staring at Dany. Huh. Right. A question. Questions need answers. It’s like, basic conversation etiquette. Mother would be so proud of her, remembering that lesson.

“I’ve been here forever,” Arya answers simply.

Wow. That sounds a whole lot nicer and a lot less bitchy in her head.

“Oh.” The sunshine smile droops a little, and Dany ducked her head a bit, like she’s making herself even smaller than she is. “It’s just, I haven’t seen here you before?” Her timidity makes the statement morph into a question, somewhere in the middle. She’s wearing a dragon necklace, with three tiny gemstones, and she fiddles with the pendant. A nervous tic.

Arya wants to kick herself. In the head. Repeatedly. What kind of soulless devil brings someone like Dany down, and makes her nervous on top of it?

So she rattles on, “I mean, well, I’ve been here for a long time. Like, super long. And well, it’s like, the first time I’ve worked this shift, you know.” She appends, “I usually work the mornings, but then I finally got fed up with cranky yuppies on their way to corporate slavery, so, uh, I decided I had enough, and yeah. Here I am.” She waves a hand around in the air, trying to make sense of her words with even more nonsensical gestures.

Dany seems to understand though. “Oh!” she says again, but the sunshine is back in her full-force, and Arya kind of feels good about that. “So, I am going to see you around often, yeah?”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Arya answers without thinking, and she feels her cheeks grow warm. “I mean, I guess,” she adds, and she hands Dany her finally-ready order.

Dany’s smile grows wider then, if that were even possible, and there’s something glinting in her eyes that’s so pure and warm. She’s so damn cute, and Arya feels like she’s ready to spontaneously combust right then and there and pass from this life into the next.

Gods, her obituary’s gonna be so lame:

_Arya Stark, age 21_

_Died of cardiac arrest, because her heart could not take a smile from a pretty girl, thereby proving that she had absolutely no chill._

_Survived by her mother and father, a sister, and four brothers._

_In lieu of flowers, please give donations to Purr and Paws Animal Shelter. Please adopt an animal too._

 

Dany takes her coffee. “I didn’t get your name.”

Arya seems confused for a moment, and then she glances at her shirt. Right. She forgot wearing the nametag again. In her defense, it hardly ever matters. Sansa would probably blow another gasket, though.

“It’s Arya.” Then she adds, with a small smirk, “With a _y_.”  

“Nice to meet you, Arya with a _y._ ” There’s laughter in Dany’s tone, now. Not mocking, the type Arya usually hears from girls as pretty as this one—though no, _not right_ , no one is as pretty as _this one_. Not possible. Come on. She’s sunshine incarnate, like, if Apollo had a twin sister.

Wait. Apollo _has_ a twin sister. Artemis, moon goddess. No, the moon is not what Arya’s thinking of. More like, if Apollo was a girl, maybe. Because Dany is that freaking radiant.

“See you around, then,” Dany tells her after a beat. And . . . she’s leaving. Because her order is complete.

She’s almost to the door when Arya suddenly says, “Wait.” It’s not particularly loud, but since the place is mostly deserted, she’s heard anyway.

Dany turns to face her again, a question in her eyes, and Arya stops breathing. “Yes?”

“Uhm—” Arya wracks her non-functioning brain for something to say. “Nice pendant.”

What. What kind of doofus would say that?

Dany, however, does not seem to mind at all. She just chuckles, and Arya wants to bottle up that sound for future consumption, like maybe when she’s feeling down and she needs a sunshiny pick-me-up. “Thank you! It actually represents my children, who are so like dragons, to be honest, but then, dragons are so cool, right? Who doesn’t love dragons? Anyway, yeah, thanks, I love this thing and it’s so awesome that you said something.”

Arya’s smile is frozen in place as Dany turns around again and leaves.

 _Children_. Okay, then.

Fine. Just fine.

What a splendid Monday.

 

****

 

**TUESDAY**

To wallow in despair and to soothe her wounded pride—okay, that’s a bit melodramatic, but Arya’s _sad_ and she has a right to drown in the feeling at the moment—she chooses to work in the kitchens with her friend Hot Pie and let her brother Bran handle the counter. She doesn’t think she can fake any smiles today.

She’s in the middle of measuring flour for croissants when Bran suddenly walks through the door, with a little grin that made the hair on Arya’s arms stand up on edge. Bran is a difficult nut to crack, and he is Arya’s most formidable poker opponent. There’s no telling what he’s thinking most of the time.

“I need to use the bathroom,” he announces.

“Uh, okay?”

Bran rolls his eyes. “We might have customers.”

“Oh.” She raises an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you hold it in?”

“The longer we talk, the longer they wait.”

“Okay, fine, I’m up.” Arya sighs. It’s not that big of a deal, anyway, and Bran’s covered a lot for her in the past. A little break wouldn’t hurt, and it could tip the scales in her favor, if they were the sort of people who kept checks and balances. They’re not, for the record, but _still_.

“Sorry for the wait,” Arya apologizes as she goes to the counter. “What can— _oh_.”

“Good afternoon, Arya with a _y_ ,” greets Dany with a single _n_ , lips curved in delight. She’s wearing a deep-blue sundress that makes her eyes stand out more, and it is seriously messing with Arya’s wits. “I’m sorry for interrupting what you’re doing, but I asked if you had the day off or something, and the guy said you were in the back.”

“Yeah, no, it’s okay, don’t worry,” Arya appeases. “I was just lending a hand with measuring ingredients and stuff.” She clears her throat, because really, was Dany this adorable yesterday? She struggles to be detached and aloof. Like a wolf or something. To protect herself, because if she didn’t, she was gonna be sucked into Dany’s orbit—she’s the personification of the sun, and Arya’s a damn helpless planet. “What can I get you?”

Dany tucks some stray wisps of silver hair behind her ear. “Uhm, I’ll have an Earl Grey to go, please.”

“Will that be all?”

“What pastry would you recommend to go along with it?”

“Uh”—Arya frowns thoughtfully—“I suppose a lemon cake would balance out the taste of the tea?”

“Then I’ll have a lemon cake too, please.” Dany looks so earnest and genuine and just . . . _perfect_.

“All right.” Arya clears her throat again. What the actual shit is _happening_ to her? “A batch was just freshly made. I’m gonna get one.” She turns before Dany can respond.

She finds Bran sitting on the seat she’d been occupying before the little shit made her get up. He’s leaning on the table, his chin on his hand, and he looks utterly smug.

“ _Brandon_ ,” she hisses, eyes narrowed into slits. “Bathroom break _my ass_.”

He smirks, and she resists the urge to smack him with one of the rollers Hot Pie is using. “Run along and get the lady’s lemon cake, sister.”

Arya flips him the bird, but she does hurry up for the pastry. Customers might be coming in any minute.

When she returns, though, Dany’s still the only person in line, for which Arya is grateful. She needs to calm herself down before participating in any more human interaction.

Arya puts the lemon cake in a pretty takeout box advertising their café. It’s Sansa’s design, obviously, since she’s pretty much the only one of them who has any artistic skill whatsoever. “Here you go,” she says, handing it along with the tea to Dany.

“Thanks! How much— Oh my gods, is that the time?” Dany’s eyes widen as she looks at the clock beside the menu boards. “I’m sorry, I have to run.” She hands Arya a crisp twenty and practically sprints to the door. How she managed to do that whilst still looking so elegant, Arya would never understand. “Keep the change! See you soon!” she says, and then she’s gone.

Left alone, Arya sighs, getting the change from Dany’s payment and putting it in the tip jar. She’s on the last coin when Bran pokes his face out the kitchen door and says, “so smooth.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He fakes a gasp. “What will Mother say when she hears you cursing?”

“Mother would understand that I am an adult who can say adult words.” She scowls at him and heads back to the kitchen. “You keep watch. I’m gonna go smoke.”

“You don’t even smoke.”

“Who cares? That’s not the point. You don’t know me.”

“We live together under the same roof, and we share the same egg and sperm donors.” Arya crinkles her nose at his choice of words. “I know all the dirt on you, and _you don’t smoke_.”

“I said that’s not the point, and I could have been smoking all this time and you just don’t know it.”

“Mother would kill you if you did. Also Sansa. And Robb and Jon,” he points out helpfully. “Maybe Father would too, if there was any of you left to kill.”

“What, you a tattletale?”

“No, but they could smell any secrets, and I’m pretty sure they would know the minute you started smoking, and they haven’t said anything yet, which means you’re not a smoker now and you haven’t ever been.”

Her scowl deepens. “Don’t be a reasonable brat. I hate reason right now.”

“I know.” He smiles, and then makes a shooing motion with his arm. “Go and stop Hot Pie before he bakes another batch of muffins. At this rate we’re gonna have leftovers that will last till next month.”

Her shoulders slump down. “Fine.”

She’s pretty sure she’s in for a whole lot of teasing when they get home.

 

****

 

**WEDNESDAY**

Jon’s with her on today’s shift, which is really kind of a blessing. He’s the only one with whom Arya is completely honest, feelings-wise, and he never makes fun of her. Much. Nor does he urge her to talk, because those kinds of talks generally make Arya want to sulk.

“So, you think the girl will be coming in today?”

That doesn’t mean he passes up the opportunity when it’s _there_.

Arya crosses her arms defensively. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“She says caringly, as she cares deeply,” he quips.

“You’re spending too much time on Tumblr,” she retorts.

“I don’t. Ygritte does, and she always sends me posts and screenshots. But we’re not talking about that.” He persists, “We both know you’re lying. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be staring at the door for minutes on end.”

And Arya _is_ currently looking at said door, and she turns to stare angrily at him because she hates it when he’s right, which is often. Not that she’s admitting that now. “Shut. Up.”

He raises both hands in placation. “All right, all right. Don’t bite my head off.” He goes back to wiping the utensils and equipment. He’s a neat freak, worse than Sansa, which means when he’s on duty there’s not a speck of dust anywhere.

They’re quiet for several moments, but Arya knows it is Jon’s way of not pressuring her, which pretty much means she’s gonna feel pressured into saying what she wants to say sooner rather than later anyway. He’s sneaky like that, because who can say no to his kicked-puppy look, right? Damn him.

Also, heart-to-heart talks are easier with him, in a way, because even though he looks vaguely uncomfortable—or constipated, if one’s a little less generous in description—during such, he’s a pretty decent listener, and he gives sound advice despite being almost as socially inept as Arya.

She sets her elbows on the counter, resting her head on her hands in defeat. “I am completely and royally fucked,” she confesses.

Jon looks up from cleaning a fancy glass—why is there even a fancy glass here? It’s a bloody café, not a bar, and they serve caffeine, not alcohol—and he raises his eyebrows in a way painfully reminiscent of Aunt Lyanna. “You think?”

Arya shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what _do_ you know?”

She shifts so that her face is buried in her hands. “She’s wonderful. She’s what sunshine would be if it turned human. A sun goddess. A female Helios. She could walk into a barren field and everything would probably come alive. She speaks and I swear I can hear angels singing.”

She doesn’t see Jon’s jaw drop, taken aback by her word vomit. “Uh.” A beat. “That’s . . . uhm. Wow.”

“Real eloquent,” she mutters into her palms, and she can feel herself blushing like an idiot.

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I just haven’t heard you speak about anyone that way before.”

She finally lifts her head to look at him askance. “What way?”

“Really?” He scoffs, gesturing at her with the fancy glass. It’s practically sparkling now. “You’re . . . smitten, Arya.”

She blinks at him. “What.”

“You like her.” He continues to gesture with the glass, enlightening her with, “Like, _like_.”

She knows what he’s saying, but she stubbornly ignores it. “How did you ever manage to get Ygritte to date you with that kind of limited vocabulary?” she asks instead.

He sighs and finally sets the glass down. Now he’s the one crossing his arms, and he looks so much like Father that she gets why no one’s questioned his lineage—a carefully guarded secret to which only their family is privy. He’s a Stark, and that’s that. “Be serious, Little Sister,” he says, and she feels duly chastised even though he never really does chastise her.

“Okay, okay,” she says. “It’s just that, well, I barely even know her, but I can’t help thinking about her? Is that even normal? Like? I just knew from the moment she walked into the goddamn door that I wanna know her better, and be there for her. How is that possible? What rational explanation could there possibly be?” She’s ranting, and she looks so confused because she _is_ confused as fuck.

Jon drops his arms and looks sympathetic. “If I knew the answer, you’re the first one I’d tell. I promise.”

And that’s a serious promise, Arya knows. Jon’s a man of his word. And, after all, she’s also the first one he told about Ygritte, and the first one to meet her, too, because Jon trusts her without reservation.

And it’s mutual; Jon’s the first one to whom Arya told she likes girls, and he was beside her when she finally came out to the family as a whole, holding her hand supportively all the while.

“Did you feel the same way with Ygritte? When you first met her, I mean?”

He smiles. “Well, we both know how unconventional that meeting was. I don’t think it’s a fair point of comparison.”

She laughs, because yeah, maybe not. Jon and Ygritte met when they accidentally almost killed each other in an alley beside the infamous Wildling Club, located in one of the shadier parts of the city. “Yeah, you’re right. But still. The _feeling_?”

Jon hums, scratching the back of his neck. Stalling, Arya knows. And when he stalls, what ultimately comes out of his mouth is usually pure gold.

He doesn’t disappoint. “I think your confusion kind of already answers your question, doesn’t it? I think feelings are generally meant to, you know, confound human beings into stumbling in their lives without direction, but knowing in their bones that they have a goal they must reach. And maybe getting there takes longer than they’d prefer, but in the end, everything’s worth it, you know? All the questions are answered once they see the person’s face, and like, everything makes sense, though at the same time nothing really does.” He gives her a half smile. “It’s like you’ve been hiding your whole life, but suddenly, you don’t have to anymore. Suddenly, you’re free, and it’s glorious because she _exists_.”

His eyes are shining, and yeah, Arya knows that what he has with his spitfire girlfriend is the real deal.

And also that her own earlier confession of being fucked is so, so on point.

She huffs a little cheerless laugh, because she’s apparently in more trouble than she initially believed. “Well, then,” she says, “now I know you’re really born to be a philosophy major.”

He huffs and reaches over to muss up her chin-length hair—something only he is allowed to do, ever—and says, “You _did_ ask.”

“I wish I hadn’t. I feel more miserable now, thanks for that.”

“Hindsight is 20-20, and all that.”

“Suppose so.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, then, for the talk is concluded. Jon heads back to the kitchen to get more butterscotch bars and doughnuts to put on display. And also to check on Hot Pie, because seriously, the kid could feed an entire battalion at the rate he’s baking.

And it’s probably good that they’re done with the talking thing, because after several minutes, Dany comes in, grinning.

She’s clad in a white dress today, with a soft-looking blue cardigan. Her hair falls in silky waves, and she’s a breath of fresh air. Arya’s lips automatically upturn into a smile, and Dany’s grin widens.

“Hey, you,” Dany gently says, and Arya’s chest constricts so painfully she’s surprised she hasn’t collapsed.

“Hi.” Arya gives a little wave. “Is today a coffee day, or a tea day?”

“A coffee day,” Dany answers. “I need the boost. I have a long evening ahead.”

Arya winces. “Sorry about that. But don’t run yourself to the ground.” She freezes as soon as the words leave her mouth, because wow, that sounds so presumptuous of her. She cares more than is acceptable for a relative stranger. Dany probably thinks she’s a creep now, and she’s gonna go away and Arya won’t see her again till the end of her days.

However, to the eternal thankfulness of Arya’s state of mind, Dany just nods. “I won’t. Thank you.” She looks amused and pleased, somehow. “So, uhm, tall Americano. Double espresso.”

Grabbing the return to the normal customer-barista rapport with both hands, Arya whistles. “That is a _lot_ of caffeine,” she comments, even as she grabs a cup and starts to prepare the drink.

“Is that too much?” Dany frowns, worriedly.

Arya shrugs. “I mean, as long as you don’t palpitate too hard? Do you know how much caffeine you need to like, kick your heart into overdrive?” She’s concentrating on the coffeemaker, back turned to Dany.

Dany laughs softly—everything about her is so soft and pure—and the sound is the stuff Arya’s dreams are made of. “I don’t think I need caffeine to do that,” she says, and it’s like it’s more to herself than to Arya.

Arya stills a bit in her task, and she’s really glad Dany can’t presently see her expression. “Hmm,” she manages. For all her teasing about Jon’s lack of eloquence, Arya knows she’s somehow worse, when it comes down to it. “Just, you have a healthy heart, right?” Her eyes widen at the words she’s just spoken. She clarifies hastily, “I mean, you don’t have a heart condition? Because you have to be sure you can handle this much stimulant.”

“It’s like you’re talking about some drug or something,” Dany teases.

Arya turns around to face her. “Well, caffeine kind of is a drug, if you think about it.”

“That’s true,” Dany concedes, “but I will never give it up, even if it becomes illegal.”

“Wow, a lawbreaker,” Arya says, deadpan. “A modern dissident, unafraid of the government and the system it embodies. How refreshing.”

Dany’s eyebrow rises in surprise. She’s smirking, and there’s a glint of playful challenge in her pretty purple eyes. “Are you always this . . . droll?” The sarcasm is thick, but the smile takes out any real sting.

“It comes naturally.” Arya hands her the drink.

“I’m sure it does.” She accepts it with a gracious nod. “Are you sure it’s the only thing that comes naturally, though?”

Dany says it so innocently, so innocuously, that it takes Arya a couple of seconds to register the words. And when she finally does, heat creeps up into her face, and she opens her mouth for a response, but none is forthcoming.

Dany raises a hand to cover her mouth, but she’s giggling. And normally Arya hates giggling, and she hates it even more if it’s at her expense, but currently she doesn’t really care. Dany’s joy is infectious, and she’s powerless against it. She cracks a smile—the half smile she shares with Jon and with Aunt Lyanna, the rare, candid Stark smile—the one she doesn’t even know she has, and the one that unwittingly knocks the air from Dany’s lungs.

Not knowing the effect she has, Arya just shakes her head at the silver-haired girl with _that_ smile. “You got me there, Dany with a single _n_ ,” and there’s no hiding the affection in her tone.

Dany swallows visibly, and Arya doesn’t understand why she seems a bit red. “Yeah, I try.”

Arya lifts a hand to her hair, tousling it more in the process. “I do hope the caffeine helps in your long evening. And I’ll pray to the old gods that you don’t die of caffeine overdose, if that exists.”

“I appreciate that,” Dany says faux-gravely. “So, uh, how much do I—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Arya interrupts. “On the house, since you left a pretty large tip yesterday.”

“Is that okay? I mean, won’t you get in trouble?”

Dany seems legitimately concerned for her well-being that Arya doesn’t hesitate to explain. “My family owns the place.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Comprehension dawns on Dany’s face, as abrupt as a lightning bolt. “You’re a Stark.”

Arya feels the change in the air. She’s anxious, suddenly, because it’s like the sunshine is blocked by a moon. It’s an eclipse, and she hates it. “Yeah,” she reluctantly confirms.

“Okay,” Dany murmurs, and she’s fidgeting now. “That’s—” She stops, something else catching her eye, and Arya has no time to look and see what it is, because then Dany is breathing out, “Gotta go. Bye.” She leaves a five on the counter.

And Arya once again helplessly watches Dany leave.

“Shit.”

Arya startles at the muttered curse, and she turns to see Jon standing by the kitchen door, a tray of butterscotch bars in his hands. His face is ashen, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“What?” Arya’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, both from Dany’s quick turnabout and Jon’s noticeable apprehension.

Jon closes his eyes and breathes deeply, counting under his breath—one of those ridiculous exercises Sansa insists they learn. When he opens them again, there’s a sort of resignation in his eyes. He methodically puts the pastries in their proper place, then he meets Arya’s questioning gaze.

“That’s the girl you’ve been pining after?”

An indignant grunt escapes from Arya’s throat at that. “I won’t exactly call it _pining_ ,” she objects weakly.

He waves her protest away. “She’s the one?” he asks again, adamant.

Arya blinks. What now?  “. . . Yeah?”

He closes his eyes again and pinches the bridge of his nose. It looks like he’s in actual pain, and it would have been comical were it not so darn _baffling_.

Jon is silent for several moments, and normally the silence is soothing, but Arya’s nerves are on high alert now and _nothing is soothing._ “What is it?” she finally inquires, when Jon still hasn’t said anything.

He blinks open his eyes, and he looks so distraught and anguished Arya almost feels sorry for him.

“Arya—”

“Just tell me.”

He grimaces, and then: “She’s my aunt.” He says the words quickly, like ripping off the Band-Aid on an especially nasty wound.

It’s one of those moments when Arya is not particularly sure her life is real. Like everything is fiction and not a damn thing makes sense, like a surrealist painting, or a postmodern art installation, or a congressional hearing.

And when she at long last comprehends the gravity of the situation, she can only repeat, “shit,” which indeed aptly describes her feelings, her situation, and her life in general.

How could everything be so monumentally fucked up?

 

****

 

**THURSDAY**

Arya pleads sick, and Jon backs her up. Catelyn Stark just hums in that motherly way she has, like she knows what’s happening and is willing to let it pass, and Ned Stark just lets them be.

They go to the Brotherhood Gym downtown, where their friend Gendry works, and they proceed to blow off some steam.

Well, Arya does. Jon allows her, giving instructions as she goes.

“Why. Is. Life. So. Unfair.” Every word is punctuated by a punch.

“Don’t drop your left. That’s exploitable. And you’re giving yourself away by shifting that ankle.” Jon adjusts his hold on the kick pads. “And everything is unfair, Little Sister. It’s just the way things are.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I know.”

“She’s like, your age.”

“Yup.”

“And you know each other.”

“Yup.”

Arya stops. “Why have I never heard about her?”

Jon doesn’t drop his hands. “Father and Mother thought it best for all of us. And it’s easier to keep secrets the fewer people are involved.”

She can’t argue that logic. The secret of Jon’s true parentage is something that has been paid a hefty price, after all, and no one is more willing to bury it with the ghosts of the past than Ned and Cat. “So how _do_ you know each other?”

Jon answers, “When we were kids, we spent a week together annually. You were too little to remember, but there’s always been a period when I’m not at home. It started before Brandon was born. I spent that period with her. And her brother Viserys. Well, at least before he went mad and was sent far away.”

“She lived in Dragonstone?”

“With her uncle Aemon, yes.”

 She takes a few steps back. “Does she resent our family?”

Jon takes his time in answering; when he does, his tone is pensive and prudent. “She understands that our family had no choice in the matter, and that my father . . .” he falters, but carries on, “. . . my father and mother did not make the wisest decision.”

“Why did you stop seeing each other?”

“We didn’t, not entirely. I still visit occasionally. Just, a day at a time, so you’re not aware of it. And e-mails are a thing, so catching up is never awkward.”

Arya thinks back on the previous years with new eyes that shed some clarity. A lot of things are coming into sharper focus, and Jon is right about another thing: hindsight _is_ undeniably 20-20. “You’re always gone when storm season begins,” she realizes.

Jon nods. “It’s Dany’s birthday. There’s no one else to celebrate it with her but me and Aemon, so I begged Father to always let me go on that day.”

There is so much Arya wants to say. What she settles for is, “In all the times you’ve met up and exchanged mails, you never showed her a family picture or something. Nor did you tell her you work a bit in a family-owned café.”

At this, Jon turns an interesting shade of his girlfriend’s hair. “I did tell her I’m working in a café, and that it’s Stark-owned, but she refused to know the business name because she loves coffee and she wants to try out every coffee shop she sees. And the last time I showed her a family photo was when you were entering middle school.”

“ _What?_ ” Arya’s voice is _this_ close to a screech. “I was wearing braces and my hair was so fucking long then!”

“I am so sorry.” And he truly looks contrite, it’s impossible to be mad at him.

Arya sighs, because sure, what a superb account of things, and she’s _so_ fed up with everything. What a freaking family drama. She can’t believe she’s living this sort of life. _What even_.

She backs up some more, and then uses the momentum to deliver a roundhouse kick.

Jon drops his hands. “Perfect,” he says.

“I know.”

They cleaned up afterwards, Jon in the downstairs showers and Arya in Gendry’s own bathroom, and then they head out for lunch in a nearby Dornish restaurant.

When they are done eating, they go to the park for ice cream.

 

“I never saw her smile that easily,” Jon idly says, like he’s talking about the weather.

“She has a really pretty smile.”

“It’s been said, yeah.”

Arya snorts. “This is seriously messed up.”

“I know.”

A beat. “I like her, Jon.”

It’s his turn to snort, and he almost drops his ice cream. “It’s hot in Meereen. The Tyrells are sick rich. Rickon needs a life.” He meets Arya’s annoyed look. “Oh, sorry, I thought we were listing glaringly obvious facts.”

She rolls her eyes and eats the rest of her ice cream in silence.

 

It’s late in the afternoon when they finally stroll down their café’s street. Bran is on duty with his friend Jojen, supposedly. Jon decides to check on them, because though he trusts Jojen, he is kind of an airhead sometimes.

When they get there, Dany is waiting.

Arya stops as soon as she sees the lithe figure standing by the shop’s entrance, hands gripping a takeout cup like a lifeline. She’s small, but she seems to occupy a much bigger space, and she’s so overflowing with nervous energy she’s almost bouncing in place.

She’s wearing another white sundress now, but instead of a cardigan, she has a black leather jacket over it. Her dragon pendant shimmers in the rays of the setting sun.

Arya thinks she’s the most beautiful woman alive.

As if sensing eyes on her, Dany lifts her head, and purple meets steel grey.

Dany straightens up, and Arya gulps, yet she bravely puts one foot in front of the other until she’s but an arm’s reach away from her.

Arya is aware of Jon shuffling clumsily behind her.

“Daenerys,” he greets.

“Jon Snow.” Dany nods at him in acknowledgment, and then she returns her gaze to Arya.

“I’m just gonna . . . make sure Jojen hasn’t broken anything,” Arya hears Jon say, and there’s a rustling to the shop, but Arya is only aware of that on some shallow level. Her focus is solely on Dany.

“Hey, you.” Dany’s voice is as sweet as ever.

Arya’s throat has never been so dry. “Hi.”

There’s a span of time when everything ceases to exist, and all that remains are the two of them.

“I am so sorry for running out yesterday,” Dany says. Regret thickly coats the words, and Arya doesn’t want to hear them.

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t need to explain.”

“I do,” is the firm protestation. “I was a coward. And kind of an ass.”

“That’s not true.”

“Arya,” Dany breathes, and Arya wants to savor how her name tastes on Dany’s lips, “you don’t know that.”

“I know enough,” she says. “I know you don’t owe me anything at all.” She smiles, self-deprecating. “And if I were you, I would have run out from me, too.”

Dany purses her lips, but a grin is fighting to get free. “I was just shocked, is all.”

When in doubt, go for humour. “By my charms?”

“Be serious, Arya.” And it’s so reminiscent of Jon’s caution that Arya has to chuckle.

“Wow, you sound just like him. It’s amazing.”

“And you’re being intentionally thickheaded. Is that a special Stark quality?”

“We have a monopoly on that market, yes. Trademark pending, though.”

Dany groans, but she’s not fighting the smile anymore. “This is ridiculous, and not how I envisioned this conversation going.”

“How _did_ you envision it, then?”

“Well, you cooperating, for one.”

“I _am_ cooperating.”

“You’re not. Just. I’m sorry”—and she holds up a hand to stop Arya’s protest—“and accept the freaking apology, please, to show said cooperation.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted,” Arya says. “Even though it’s obligatory.”

“I’m disregarding that second statement. And for two, we’re seated somewhere more comfortable in my imagined scenario.”

“That can be arranged.” Arya pauses, and stares into purple with unusual openness. “Will you run away again?”

Dany’s tilts her head up at her, and her words are a vow and a declaration. “I will never run away again. I promise.”

 

****

 

**FRIDAY**

Arya takes another day off, and she spends it with Dany.

She meets Dany’s children—three huge St. Bernards named Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal.

“I can’t believe you thought I had actual kids.” Dany laughs. “Didn’t you think of the age?”

“Maybe you had them when you were like, real young. There’s a thing called teenage pregnancy, you know,” Arya mumbles. She’s carefully but firmly gripping Viserion’s leash, while Dany has Drogon’s and Rhaegal’s. “I don’t judge.”

 

****

 

“Why did you call him ‘Jon Snow’?” Arya asks, because it’s been kind of stuck in the back of her mind since yesterday.

“Oh, uhm”—Dany smirks—“it’s a childhood nickname. He often prattled about how coated with snow everything in the North was, and how you built fantastic snow castles and little snow villages, and how fun everything in the snow was. So I called him Jon Snow, since he seemed to love snow very much.”

 

****

 

Dany sometimes works as a veterinarian in Paws & Purrs, and Arya wonders how she’s never seen her before.

“I usually handle the more severe cases, in the back clinic,” Dany explains. “It’s out of bounds to visitors, so maybe that’s why.”

“I’d like to help out, sometimes,” Arya says. “And like, it could be arranged to have the animals stay and help out in continuing care facilities, right? Like, in Sunspear Homes, or something. It’ll give the animals more freedom than being cooped up, and the elderly like pets. Right?” Arya looks down at Dany, who is looking at her with something she can’t decipher. “Never mind.”

Dany tugs at her hand, loosening her hold on Rhaegal a little. Arya stops walking.

“Let’s do it.” And she’s filled with awe and adoration, and it pulls at Arya’s heartstrings.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dany smiles her sunshine smile. “It’s gonna be so much fun. And it’s for a good cause.”

Dany’s enthusiasm spreads to everyone she touches, and she’s currently touching Arya, so. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what the answer will be. “Okay, then.” There’s Arya’s half smile again. “In that case, it’s a date.”

 

It’s not an isolated case.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can never have enough coffee shop AUs in my life, tbh. :))  
> Also, for the record: I love raisins. :D


End file.
